Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

“Together we lift the smoke and fog and shadows from all the haters.” Vladimir ended his singing and trotted his horse toward Angelfire. “M’ lady,” he greeted her with laughter in his voice. “If my nightingale’s singing has failed to please you, I beg permission to improvise a poem to praise your beauty which lights the night of the forest.”

  “M’ lord,” Lucienne answered. “What brings you here at such an uncanny hour? Are you trying to tempt an innocent, defenseless young girl?”

  “Defenseless?” Vladimir chuckled. “All men be damned.” He then ended their playfulness with a concern. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, resting? You haven’t fully recovered yet.”

  His horse trekked alongside Angelfire. He was so close now that his leg rubbed against hers. His heat surged through her body.

  Lucienne tilted her head and held Vladimir’s gaze. “And what are you going to do about it?” she purred, noticing its immediate effect on the prince. His dark, golden eyes roamed her face, predatory and seductive. Lucienne’s blood raced through her veins like the rapid stream rushing through the forest.

  “I’m going to do this.” Vladimir lifted Lucienne from Angelfire and positioned her on his powerful thigh while steadying himself on the back of his stallion.

  Layers of dried leaves crunched under the hooves of the horses. There were sounds of a horse heading in their direction. It must be Jonas. But Lucienne had only Vladimir’s warm, hard breathing on her mind.

  “Lucia,” Vladimir’s whisper was husky, thick with desire.

  “What?” Lucienne sighed as she inhaled his intoxicating male musk mixed with wild summer.

  “As long as you walk the Earth,” Vladimir said, “I’ll never be with another.” His thumb grazed over her burning cheek; his smoldering eyes on her pink mouth.

  Lucienne parted her lips, heat twirling in her belly. When his trembling hand slipped into her silky hair, now an ashy auburn in the shadowy light, she leaned toward him.

  Their lips pressed together.

  The starlight squeezed through the black forest’s foliage, wrapping them in its embrace. This was Lucienne’s perfect night, the kiss of the century. She tasted him like the spice of the finest tea from the high mountains. Vladimir deepened his kiss, and Lucienne threaded her fingers through his hair.

  His agonized cry overlapped her moans of pleasure. Cold wind whipped Lucienne’s vulnerable lips. She fluttered open her eyes. Vladimir’s lips had abandoned her. He jerked further away from her—his movement was so violent that a patch of his hair remained in her hand. It was as if she had plucked the fine feathers from of a bird.

  Vladimir thrashed on the horseback.

  “Vlad, this isn’t funny!” Lucienne scolded him. He was a drama king, but this was absolutely out of line. This was her first kiss! Before shouting at him again, she saw his movements turning more uncontrolled—his back arched at a painful angle, his legs jerking like a marionette. By the time she realized he wasn’t acting, Vladimir had already tumbled from the horse, dragging her with him.

  The black stallion snorted and Angelfire whinnied in response, both well-trained horses managing not to trample their riders.

  Vladimir gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out. He rolled into a ball on the floor of the damp forest.

  “What’s wrong, Vlad?” Lucienne reached for him. Blood gushed from a gap above Vladimir’s left eyebrow. Lucienne spotted a rock sticking out of the thick leaves on the ground. Blood glistened on its sharp tip. She kicked the rock away and tore her sleeve to make a bandage.

  Vladimir fended off Lucienne’s hands. “Don’t . . . don’t touch me.” He kicked, propelling himself away from her. “Your kiss burns . . .”

  His reaction ripped a hole in Lucienne’s heart.

  Was it her Siren blood? Suspicion shot through her. Sitting on her feet, she nudged herself a few more inches away from him. “Tell me what I can do to help you.” She managed to sound calm and nurturing, even though she was fighting back tears. She had pictured her first kiss to be monumental and breathtaking, but never this.

  Vladimir was never a whiner. Never a coward. The pain must have exceeded his tolerance. He battered his head on the ground, as if knocking himself out would ease it.

  “Damn it, Vlad, just tell me what to do!” Lucienne had never felt so powerless and frightened, not even when she plunged down that cliff in Tibet. But Vladimir, clutching his head now, couldn’t hear her.

  “I’ll get you out of here.” Lucienne looked around. Where was the guard when she needed him? She had to leave Vladimir to get help. As much as she wanted to gather him into her arms and soothe away his pain, she knew she couldn’t touch him.

  Lucienne mounted Angelfire and urged the horse forward. The stallion bolted toward the edge of the forest like a golden wind. Hearing the hooves of another horse close by, she could finally breathe. “I need help!” she cried, her voice hoarse with frenzy. She didn’t care if it was friend or foe coming her way. Anyone but her could help Vladimir.

  “Lucia!” Kian answered urgently. “What’s wrong?”

  “Follow me!” Lucienne turned Angelfire and raced back toward Vladimir. Kian cursed and spurred his Tennessee walker. Lucienne realized Jonas must have called Kian, afraid of her running off again. Kian had given her bodyguards hell for letting her escape with Vladimir to Tibet. Now they were reporting her every move to him.

  For a moment, the forest became eerily quiet, except for the horses’ snorting and prancing. Lucienne’s throat tightened again—she couldn’t hear Vladimir. She couldn’t feel him. “Faster, Kian!” she called over her shoulder. The mare charged into the clearing with explosive speed. Kian sat tall on his horse like an enraged god.

  “Are you hurt?” Kian asked.

  “No, Vladimir is.”

  Lucienne dismounted before Angelfire stopped. She dashed to Vladimir but hesitated a few yards from him, painfully remembering how her kiss caused his agony.

  Kian’s darkened eyes first checked Lucienne before settling on the prince, writhing on the ground. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  Lucienne bit back a sob. “I hurt him.”

  “Because he tried to hurt you and got what he deserved?” Kian asked, ready to exact punishment.

  “No!” Lucienne said. “I kissed him. My lips are poisonous.” Her fists at her sides, Lucienne started sobbing. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself from moving toward Vladimir until she felt her own hot blood trickling over her hands.

  For a moment, Kian looked lost, travelling his eyes between Lucienne and Vladimir.

  “Don’t . . . cry,” Vladimir struggled to breathe the words. “I . . . I’m sorry I ruined it.”

  He was sorry? Sweat gleamed on his paled face. Even writhing in pain he conveyed masculine beauty. A deep ache throbbed in Lucienne’s chest. She’d never be able to kiss him again.

  “Don’t cry, kid,” Kian said as he dismounted his horse. “And don’t jump to conclusions. The boy must have done it wrong. There is a right way to kiss.”

  Vladimir snorted and tried to mock Kian’s statement, but his effort turned into painful coughs. Kian moved to Vladimir, pressing his hand on Vladimir’s neck to feel his pulse.

  “How is he?” Lucienne asked anxiously. “Stop the bleeding, Kian!”

  “A small wound like this is nothing for a warrior,” Kian said, turning on his flashlight.

  “Don’t . . . worry about . . . my gorgeous face. . .” Vladimir said. “Nothing can . . . spoil it.”

  He was making jokes, which meant he’d be all right. Lucienne sobbed and laughed with relief.

  Kian pried open Vladimir’s eyes wide and shone the light in them. “He’ll live, but I need to get him to the infirmary.” Kian picked up the prince, laid him on his horse, and mounted behind him.

  Lucienne hopped on Angelfire, eager to accompany Kian and Vladimir.

  Kian inserted his fingers into his mouth and whistled, indicating to the black horse to follow the mar
e. Lucienne spurred her palomino. Angelfire raced ahead of the other horses and flew out of the forest, but for the first time, Lucienne wasn’t in the mood to admire his speed. She reined her horse until Kian caught up with her.

  “You’re going straight to your room, Lucia.” Kian said.

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Not until he can walk by himself!” Kian snapped. “The last thing I want is for anyone to speculate on what happened between the two of you.”

  “Let them speculate. I won’t leave him.”

  “Lucienne Lam!” Kian’s face was stormy. “You’ll let me handle this. You’ll let me protect you from yourself, too.”

  “If it were you on the ground, I’d do the same,” Lucienne said. “I’d not leave you, under any circumstance.”

  “You’re not helping!” Kian said. “You are—”

  “Lu . . . cia,” Vladimir said. “Leave. I . . . don’t want you . . . near me.”

  “You don’t mean that. You’re just saying that for my benefit,” Lucienne protested. “It won’t be like Kian said. I need to be at your side.”

  “But I don’t . . . want you!” Vladimir’s voice turned from a hollow echo to vicious bite. “The sight of you . . . pains me. Don’t hurt me . . . again, please . . . Go . . . away.”

  The old bullet wound in her chest seemed to reopen. Lucienne hunched over the back of the stallion, reining it abruptly. Angelfire snorted, kicking his forelegs high in the air. But Lucienne held her steed on its spot, unmoving, despite its desire to fly. The black and white horses pranced by her, leaving a wake of cold wind, dust, and the scent of sweat and blood.

  It was all a blur after that. The warhorse brought her back. She didn’t know how she got to her room in the Red Mansion. All she remembered was Vladimir shrinking away from her lips and plummeting from horseback like a bird with broken wings.

  Standing before her dressing mirror, Lucienne stared at her lips; they looked like a rosebud, yet so deadly. In her desperation, a hopeful thought occurred. Maybe it wasn’t her. After all, her lips were made to be kissed. Maybe what happened was just some twisted misunderstanding. Perhaps something else caused Vladimir to recoil in agony.

  Lucienne thought of one way to find out. She would have to kiss a few frogs.

  She stepped onto the balcony of her second-floor bedroom. Her room faced Yangliu Lake, making it easy for her to sneak out. Jed’s master bedroom was situated on the opposite side of the mansion, overlooking the courtyard. Across the vast courtyard were the modern homes of the Chicago suburbs’ high society. Many Lam family members, including several of Lucienne’s cousins, the failed Siren candidates, dwelled there. Sometimes, she envied their modern conveniences—their home theater system, game rooms, and upgraded flush toilets. Red Mansion, the traditional home of the Sirens, was beautiful but hopelessly antiquated.

  With the assistance of an automatic bat hook, Lucienne reached the study in the west wing. Supported by the cable, she used the opportunity to take in the Lam’s premises, built in the Roman platinum style. From this vantage point, she couldn’t see the avant-garde apartment complex that served as their guesthouse, and where Vladimir slept, but she had a view of the ranch to the west near a long extended runway. Jed’s ‘86 eight-seat jet sat in a structure nearby. This was just one of the many aspects of the Lam Empire that she was going to inherit one day.

  The hook continued to lift her, until she spotted the statue of an immortal Siren riding a phoenix at the east corner of the red-roofed mansion. Lucienne wondered if any of her ancestors ever imagined that the last Siren would be a girl, a girl riding the ancient mythical beast.

  Using her toe to nudge open a window, Lucienne slithered through and landed inside the Siren’s study. She withdrew the hook and navigated in the dark toward the inner study. The furniture in the study—English chairs, Italian bookshelves, German desks, and even French curtains—represented different fashions from different time periods on the European continent.

  Lucienne reached the windowless inner study. She switched on the light and pulled out a disguise kit from a hidden vault behind a painting. Applying contact lenses, a wig, and heavy eye shadow, Lucienne morphed into a shapely blonde. Looking into a hand-held mirror, she batted her big blue eyes under heavy eyelashes.

  After transforming into her alter ego, she threw on a tight-fitting club dress. Lucienne entered a secret passage through a closet. Only Sirens knew of these web-like tunnels, which granted quick and secret access to parts of the west wing of the Red Mansion.

  A mile and a half away from the Lam’s complex, Lucienne exited the tunnel and was deposited inside a storehouse. She hopped into a Jaguar sports car and as the gate rolled up, she gunned the engine and sped out onto the streets of Chicagoland.

  Lucienne strolled into bar looking for her first frog. She hadn’t even finished her first drink before she lured a twenty something into the dark alley behind the bar. She knew he couldn’t believe his stroke of luck, already rehearsing how he’d brag to his friends about his hookup as he squeezed her thighs. Lucienne grabbed his collar and stuck her tongue into his mouth.

  She fled the alleyway as the man collapsed near a dumpster, thrashing. The sound of his scream chased her even after she had run away.

  Lucienne was devastated, but held out hope that this was still a coincidence. She found her second target in a hip nightclub. She set her sight on the hottest teenage boy on the dance floor. His fate wasn’t any better, when they disappeared into a back room.

  Lucienne returned to the Red Mansion, shivering. Without removing her makeup, she crawled into bed, pulling the quilt over her head and willing the darkness to swallow her and this cursed day.

  As her heavy eyelids finally closed, a commotion from outside snapped them open. Lucienne bolted upright, her hand yanking out her whip from under her pillow.

  The grandfather clock on the wall struck quarter past three. Outside the window, the sky was low and gloomy. February wind carried hushed voices, urgent footsteps, and screeching tires. Was it Vladimir? Had he failed to survive the venom from her lips? Was Kian forced to carry his body out of the Lams’ property and dump it somewhere at this god-forsaken hour?

  Her panic made it hard to breathe. Throwing on an overcoat and wrapping the whip around her wrist, Lucienne pulled the door open. Jonas was positioned outside.

  “Jonas?” she asked, blood still pounding in her ears.

  “Miss Lam, you’ll have to stay in your room.” Jonas blocked her. “Please.”

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. “What are those noises?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about. Just go back to sleep.”

  “How dare you talk to me that way!” Lucienne looked icily at the guard. “I’ll have your head on a plate.”

  “Forgive me if I offended you, Miss Lam.” Jonas bowed his head. “My job is to keep you safe.”

  “And part of keeping me safe is to inform me of what you know to the best of your ability when I demand it.”

  “Master Lam was injured. They’re taking him to the operating room.”

  Part of her felt relieved—Vladimir was okay—but the other part sank at the sad tidings. “Where’s Kian?”

  “Mr. McQuillen is with Master Lam. He wants me to guard you here.”

  “I’m going to see my grandfather, and you’ll accompany me.” There was undeniable supremacy in her voice.

  “Yes, Miss Lam.”

  Lucienne broke into a run down the corridor and shot downstairs. Jonas was at her heels, trying to keep up. Soon Lucienne was out of the mansion and past the exotic plants of the surrounding garden.

  When Lucienne entered the courtyard, she saw a grim-looking Kian and a medic carrying a stretcher. Jed lay on it, hooked to an oxygen tank, blood staining his cashmere coat.

  A tight grief and anger crammed Lucienne’s throat. Ever since she was crowned Siren, Jed had given all he had to smooth her transition. He put the family’s future in her hands when almost ev
eryone resisted. He never faltered and never showed weakness. This was the first time she had seen the old man so fragile. Lucienne’s fury burned. Whoever did this to her grandfather would pay!

  The men pushed the gurney into an armored ambulance. Lucienne shot into the back before it closed. Kian snapped his head to her. “You should stay in your room. It’s safer.”

  “Stop treating me like I’m a little girl, Kian McQuillen! You can’t protect me that way. No one can,” Lucienne said, “I’m the Siren.” She matched her mentor’s glare with a fierce, icy stare. “Next time, remember to inform me first. From now on, I’m in command. Jed Lam’s state warrants it.”

  “Yes, Master Lam,” Kian said. He looked weary, but there was unmistakable pride in his eyes. A sad tenderness rose in Lucienne. “You’re going to call me Lucia, like you always have,” she said, settling on a bench beside Kian and leaning her head on his hard, broad shoulder. He wrapped his callused hand around her shoulder, letting the silence settle over them until they reached the Lams’ infirmary.

  Lucienne waited in the hall outside the surgery room with Kian and five guards, including Jonas. She looked haunted from the faint bluish shadows and smeared mascara in the hollow under her eyes. Her brown eyes lingered momentarily on Kian’s wet shoulder. She had been sobbing.

  Jed would never expose vulnerability like that. Jed once said that she was more human than any other Siren during tea one afternoon. Being ‘too human’ wasn’t a compliment in Jed’s book.

  “I don’t hide how I feel in front of my friends,” Lucienne had said.

  “Sirens don’t have friends,” Jed said. “We can’t afford to have them.”

  “I’ll continue to cherish loyalty and friendship.”

  “That’s your hot Russian blood talking,” Jed said.

  Her hair bristled on the back of her neck. The Russian part of her heritage had always earned her the name Russian Wretch or White Trash. “Did you mean that as an insult?” she asked coldly.

  “You’re one of a kind. That’s what I meant,” Jed said. “You’re the first female Siren.”

  “I can be cold and calculating. You know I excel at that, even though my blood runs hotter than former Sirens’,” Lucienne said. “There’s no need to bring up my mother. I’m not ashamed of my Russian heritage, just as I’m not ashamed of being part of yours. I didn’t choose either.”